Into The Mind of Edward Cullen
by TheCullensOnline
Summary: Dive and explore into the mind of Edward Cullen. The truth behind his past, unsolved mysteries, and inner thoughts. The real deal, written and posted by Edward Cullen himself. This is his blog...these are his stories. A Cullens Online origional
1. A little about me

For starters, a little about me.

I was born Edward Anthony Masen in Chicago, Illinois. It seems like a very long time ago. I remember some things about my past life, but much of it has been lost in the folds of time. My parents are dead, succumbing to illness one after the other.

Carlisle adopted me, and he and Esme became the truest parents I had ever known. Our family grew, the goodness and love that Carlisle and Esme had radiated over us all: myself, Jasper, Alice, Rosalie and Emmett. I did my best, striving to emulate Carlisle and the life he has created for us all.

Life was satisfactory, quiet and lonely, until the day I met Bella Swan. The impact she had on my world was indescribable. She was my light and I was blind without her. From rocky beginnings our love took root and grew.

Now that beautiful woman is my wife. She is the most wonderful, selfless person I have ever met. I love you Bella. You have given me a beautiful daughter, Renesmee, who never ceases to amaze me. She is the best part of both of us. I love you, Ness monster.

I spend most of my time doting over those two, seeking advice from Carlisle and keeping in touch with our extended family. When I find free time I enjoy driving fast, expanding my music collection, playing the piano, reading incessantly and playing a game of baseball with my family whenever the weather allows.

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	2. The Change

The Change

The fever claimed Father first. He fell sick in the spring of 1918 and was gone, abruptly, not a week later. Mother was beside herself, certain that the war or the flu was bound to take me. She lived in a state of frantic fear.

Summer in Chicago that year was hotter that usual, and painfully still. Even the sounds of the city were stifled by the heat. In the fall, the flu returned for Mother and I. It was October when her cough started on a Sunday morning. By Friday she was confined to her hospital bed and I in a room across the hall.

We were both tended to diligently by Dr. Carlisle Cullen, a compassionate doctor who my mother took to immediately. On October 16, 1918, the day my mother was to slip into the abyss, she made a plea to Dr. Cullen. Her plea would change my life forever. With her last few breaths, she begged the doctor to save me – her only son, whom she had spent the last seventeen years worrying over.

Dr. Cullen worked late that night, tending to the patients who were moaning, fitfully, in their sleep. I listened to him making his rounds until I found the comfort of sleep myself, for the last time. I awoke to a sudden stillness. Where there was nothing, Dr. Cullen was suddenly standing over me. His eyes gave away that he was there for a devious purpose, but I was too weak to protest. He leaned carefully, tentatively over the hospital cot, slowly getting closer to me. I closed my eyes.

I felt a hot, slicing pain on my neck – like razor blades that had been heated over the stove. My eyes flew open in shock just in time to see the doctor pull his head sharply away from me, strained. It was my last coherent vision.

I no longer felt sick. I no longer felt weak. I no longer felt anything except an intense heat burning through my body. Every muscle tensed with the pain. It was searing, unbearable, consuming. I waited for the end. I wished for it, finally. But the heat continued, in waves, intensifying each time. I lost consciousness.

Every time I woke the heat was worse than the last time, seemingly focused stronger on every inch of my body. It was the most powerful in my chest, as if every sluggish beat of my heart pumped boiling oil through my veins. When awake, I tried to beg for death, but my throat, parched from the heat, prevented me from saying anything coherent.

Who knows how much time had passed. I was surely a crisp pile of flesh at this point. Alive. Dead. I didn't know, and I didn't care. My throat burned now with all the heat from my body. All else was numb.

It was then I realized it. The heat pumping through my body had cooled because it had no source. My heart was silent.

I leapt, lithely from my bed . . .


	3. Jacob Black

Jacob Black

I was there when Carlisle signed the treaty with the Quileute tribe so many years ago. I watched him sign, by the light of the fire. Only his eyes gave away the significance of the event. The signing of the treaty was a reward, a coveted prize for the lifestyle he had worked so hard to cultivate. His family finally had a home in this corner of the world, shared by two enemies.

At the time I had no idea what an important role that place and those people would play in my life. I could not have known - nor would I have believed if you told me - that I was sitting with the great grandfather of the man who would be, among other things, my savior, my rival, my foil, my brother and my son. Jacob Black.

Jacob was, initially, nothing but a pest. Insignificant. He was one of the many males in Forks attracted by the shiny new toy that was Bella Swan. Perhaps only noteworthy in their earnestness, Jacob's thoughts drifted to Bella far too often for my liking. His protective of her from the first moment, his instincts and his intentions made us rivals.

He was the one who gave me away, revealing to Bella the monster within.

I felt that I had little to worry about from him. No love could be deeper than mine for Bella. And surely that would prevail. But choices were made. Choices that would shape our futures. And when I could only find the weakness to leave, Jacob had the strength to stay. It was through his mind that I saw Bella when I was gone. Through his eyes and his heart, that I knew what I had done. He found a way to make things right when I had made them so wrong. He kept Bella afloat when she would have otherwise drowned. He protected the greatest treasure I have ever known. From that point forward I was indebted to him, no matter the core of his intentions or the sting of his anger towards me.

That would not be the last time I turned to Jacob for help, but I also turned to him often in anger, jealousy and madness.

I cannot begin to speculate the outcome of our relationship. His only desire was my only desire. But this all changed when Jacob saw Renesmee, the spawn that he would have gladly destroyed mere moments before, and imprinted. It was the beginning. Before we had only defined each other through Bella. But in a heartbeat, that was all a thing of the past. Jacob had found that which he never knew he was searching for. And I had as well; I had found a friend, a brother, a son.

Speak more with me and my beloved family at www(dot)cullensonline(dot)com


	4. A Memory of New York

A Memory of New York

No one ever forgets their first trip to New York City, me included. It was the spring of 1932 and I was still recovering from my rebellious phase. We were living in Rochester, which was mostly countryside at that point. I was bored. Esme and Carlisle were trying their best to keep me occupied and under control, but I craved something else - something fast and dangerous.

We had just gotten a new car, one of the first ever owned by our family. It was a beautiful luxury car, a Tetra T80 in a deep blue color. I was in love with that car. I took it to New York City the second weekend in April, driving fast, the engine straining near its top speed of 85 mph.

It was an overcast weekend, and I hoped it would stay that way. I booked a room at the opulent Waldorf Astoria Hotel, which had just opened the previous fall. I arrived at night, later than I had intended, the roads between Rochester and New York City were primitive at best. But even that late, the city itself was alive and bustling. There were hundreds of people walking through Times Square, and more cars than I'd ever seen. It was overwhelming to all the senses. The smells were the most memorable, pungent in the air; garbage was piled in heaps along the edges of the sidewalks and the people themselves had a different air about them, as if they'd been confined in this city for too long.

I spent a few days touring the city, from its seedy underbelly and dark alleys to its gleaming parks and the beauty herself, the Statue of Liberty. It was metropolitan and sophisticated, truly the height of humanity in this lifetime. But the city held no sense of home for me, and I had many homes at this point. It was a beautiful void, a painted box with nothing inside. I was content to admire its beauty and return to Rochester, to Esme and Carlisle.

I have gone back to New York City a few more times over the years, and its charm is the same. Excitement lurks just around the corner, it's fast and dirty and modern and cultured. But a few days sends me home, wherever that may be, with a new respect for the quiet dignity of my family's life.

_Learn more about me and my family at www(dot)cullensonline(dot)com_


	5. Another Path

The fever claimed Father first. He fell sick in the spring of 1918 and was gone, abruptly, not a week later. Mother was beside herself, certain that the war or the flu was bound to take me. She lived in a state of frantic fear.

Summer in Chicago that year was hotter that usual, and painfully still. Even the sounds of the city were stifled by the heat. In the fall, the flu returned for Mother. It was October when her cough started on a Sunday morning. By Friday she was confined to her hospital bed. She was tended to diligently by her doctors, but there was little that could be done. On October 16, 1918 my mother slipped into the abyss.

After putting her to rest, I joined the army - lying about my age on my draft card. Before I knew it, I was being sent to the trenches in France. The tide of the war was turning in the Allies' favor and fighting is what I felt I was born to do. With my family gone, the soldiers that surrounded me were my brothers. I would fight for my brothers, for my country, and for honor.

The romance of the war was gone from my mind immediately once I experienced the realities of war. We were going in to relieve soldiers who had been on the front line for several months - there was a large battalion of German soldiers making a stand and the death toll on both sides was high.

The first thing to strike me about the trenches was the smell - rotting bodies, men who hadn't washed in weeks, overflowing cess pits, rotting sandbags, stagnant mud, cigarette smoke. There were vermin of all sorts, drawn by the rotting bodies - alive and dead. It was cold, damp, miserable.

Soon after we arrived, a soldier let his head get too high above the protection of the trench and a sniper found him within seconds. He was the first casualty.

Nights were sleepless; a quiet panic setting in as every noise in the darkness was a German soldier's bayonet at your throat. I seldom found any sleep, and when I did it was restless with little distinction between reality and delusion. Eventually I developed a bad case of trench foot which made it even more difficult to sleep. Exhausted, and in discomfort and desperation, I shaved my head - like so many other soldiers - to keep the lice off me.

Rest, I found one warm night, with my arms around my rifle - bayonet pointed upward. As the sun crested over the trenches, my eyes opened - taking in the first light of the morning. Before I could form my first coherent thought, shells began dropping around me. I could hear them in the air, and the shouts as men tried to avoid them. As I struggled to scramble to my feet, a shell dropped somewhere nearby. My body was lifted through the air; I was deafened - blinded - numb.

Everything faded around me - all was still and white. From nothing, I saw an image, conjured up somewhere in my mind. It was a girl - who became more beautiful the longer I saw her. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, her features delicate, and her brown eyes held so much behind them. My last earthly thought was of her.

I died on May 28, 1919 - a few weeks before my 18th birthday. One month before the Treaty of Versailles was signed. More than 60 years before Bella Swan was a twinkling in Renee's eye.

This was the fate I was spared from when I contracted the Spanish influenza. One death for another. Another path.

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